A Dance Of Death
by thisstrangeobsession
Summary: Lucy Harris is determined to see Dr. Jekyll again, but if she can't keep her secret love of the doctor from the villainous Edward Hyde, she may not live long enough to get the chance. Warning: Explicit sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

"No one. Touches. _Hyde_."

Lucy bounded up the stairs as the man's deathly growl echoed through the Red Rat. She could not see what followed, only hear the cries of one man after another finding more than their match in the stranger who had come to seek her company – and been denied. The sound of breaking – chairs, floorboards, bones – drove her onward, but she could not help but turn before reaching the door. What of her friends? What might this Hyde brute do to them?

She had little chance to assure herself of their safety, for when she looked down from the balcony, there was only _him. _Black eyes bore into her own, smouldering with a hatred which bespoke pure carnage. They were empty of all else but this, gleaming with a cold inner light, as if they lacked a soul. As she stood transfixed with fear, she thought that they – that _he_ – could scarcely be human. They were the eyes of a predator; as he had made all too clear, tonight, she was his prey.

His arm raised to point directly at her, marking her as his destination, but she would not stay to see him reach it. With the blind panic of one facing certain death, she spun and ran out the door, hitching up her already-indecent skirts to allow freedom of movement, though where she might go, she had not even a thought. The girls' house, she avoided out of instinct; even without a conscious notion toward it, she knew she could be found there were he but to enquire of his defeated assailants where his target took her customers to bed. Neither home nor work were refuge, and the only safety lay in getting elsewhere, _fast._

Her short boot heels struck the cobblestones with a sharp, resounding _clack_, and not more than a few seconds later, the pounding of footsteps followed, already gaining. The alleyways twisted this way and that; though she knew them well, there was no sure path, and reason abandoned her. There was between an alehouse and a seller of corsets a split: one way led back to the Red Rat – the other, she had not had occasion to explore.

In the faint moonlight beyond a haze of fog, she found her way to the left, darker path, where she might be more easily hidden. Turning the corner, she ran toward her escape – and into a dead end.

_No._ Careless in her frustration, she cried out, beating her fist against the rough brick as the footfalls behind her slowed. With the ease of absolute certainty, they began to close in, and Lucy spun to face the man she so feared. Though she panted with exertion, he hardly seemed affected by the chase; it was almost as though he had prolonged it for his own enjoyment. The glint of his silver-knobbed walking stick caught her eye, the weapon slowly rising to point at her face.

"You will pay _dearly_ for that."

Lucy winced at the threat, his low, rumbling growl thundering through her heart. Her gaze flitting between man and weapon, she pressed her back to the wall, watching for signs that she was about to be struck as she choked back her sobs.

"Wait!" she whimpered, further lifting her skirts as a tear fell down her cheek. "You can 'ave me, sir. You can 'ave me."

Still, the weapon extended farther, smooth, cold metal coming to rest beneath her chin, pressing upward to tilt her head toward him as he neared. To better seek her eyes in the darkness, or to ensure a blow would find its mark? She could see but little of his face, certain only that his gaze was fixed upon her. Could he sense her fear? Her desperation? He was so close now that the heat of his body warmed her, and she shuddered with the sensation as the breath from his lips warmed her own.

"Please."

The whisper escaped before she had even thought to utter it. There was nothing else left to say, for her offer had been met with silence, and she could not guess what kind of entreaty might move him to mercy. Clutching her raised skirts, she closed her eyes, preparing for a blow – and instead, received a kiss.

The brush of his lips was tender, taking her by surprise, and she moaned at the sudden warmth. His unexpected kiss began with a slow, burning hunger, a deliberate exploration, and she gave in with ease, parting her lips at the caress of his tongue seeking her own. He tasted of the champagne they had drunk, sweet and intoxicating; beneath it, there was something else, strange and bitter, but not so off-putting as to be unpleasant, and she didn't bother to think on it.

Before long, desire turned into passion, and she melted under the tantalizing strokes of his tongue. The weapon was set against the wall beside her as he pressed closer still, bending to rub his growing arousal between her legs. It was more than generous, she could tell, and although she had seldom found pleasure in the act, the thought of him sheathing himself inside her inspired a longing unlike any she'd ever known.

Lucy moaned at the thrust of his erection, caressing the folds of her sex through their clothing, and a rush of heat warned of the blossoming wetness where she ached. They had hardly stopped for air when he drew her back in, the movements of his tongue matching those below, an erotic promise of what was to follow.

He reached between them, not to unfasten his trousers, but to slip his hand underneath her skirts. All of the girls were forced to wear the thinnest and most accessible of undergarments in case a patron demanded such a convenience as this, and so with a tug of linen, she was bare beneath his hand. With skilled precision, his fingers delved into her wet folds, finding the throbbing nub at their crest.

She whimpered into his mouth at the first hard swipe against the aching bit of flesh, a blissful heat rushing through her veins. This was a pleasure she had only ever known by her own hand; now, under his control, its intensity was increased a thousand fold, indescribably sweet and oh, so maddening. Warm lust dripped from the sensitive lips of her sex, and he used it to wet the swollen peak, easing the shock of his relentless strokes.

Her knees weakened, her body trembling as it fought to contain the pure pleasure building deep inside, and just when it seemed she would scream with it, his fingers left her to unfasten his trousers. She swallowed between shuddering breaths, her cheeks hot and the ache within her sex even hotter, a prickle of fear piercing through the haze of lust. Her climax had been so close; was all of that now to be lost to the carelessness of a man's selfish desire?

The cold brick wall scraped her skin as he pinned her wrists over her head with one hand, and she spread her thighs in readiness, a pleading look in her gaze as their eyes locked and the hot tip of his manhood at last parted her aching entrance.

"Sir!"

Lucy's cry of shock rang through the alley as his rigid cock rammed into her, impaling her completely with a single thrust. As she had guessed, he was of great girth and length, the hot flesh reaching deeper, deeper until it seemed her sex would break. There was a thrill, a strange pleasure to it even as her body struggled to cope, but oh, how it _burned._

At once, his lips clamped over hers, his tongue capturing her own to quiet her, and his grip on her wrists tightened. He thrust again, hitting the very end of her sex, but the curve of him stroked her in such a way that a sudden, overwhelming heat sent fiery shivers of pleasure racing along her tight walls. Again, and her mind spun, her senses reeling as his tip rubbed against a spot that shuddered with bliss, the very source of her lust. Moaning into his kiss, she felt her nipples ache, yearning for the caress of his hands, and the slick pearl of her sex throbbed with the need for his touch.

This last was all too close, the force of his punishing thrusts vibrating through the hardened bud in tandem with the blissful strokes of his cock, bringing her closer, closer, so close to climax she felt she may die without it. All the while, his tongue entangled with hers, attempting to silence her helpless cries, until the ravenous lovers broke apart for a desperate breath.

"Please, sir!" she panted, her sex quivering around his thick shaft. "Please!"

His response was a rolling of his hips, and a silent scream caught in her throat as she clung to the very edge of orgasm. Her head fell back against the wall, her mouth hanging open, unable to beg for more lest any movement bring climax beyond her reach. It was pure agony, her body pleading for the mercy of release, and when he brought his mouth to her neck, ravishing it with kisses, she began to cry.

An arm wrapped about her back, holding her tightly against him, and his lips brushed her ear.

"Your cunt is _mine_."

At the lustful growl, he withdrew, and with a furious passion, rammed into her again. Lucy's cries echoed alongside the wild crash of their bodies with each savage thrust, faster and faster, his cock finding that one miraculous spot and mercilessly pounding it until at last her pleasure reached its peak.

She screamed in ecstasy, a climax beyond anything she had ever known seizing her body with indescribable bliss. The hot, wet shock exploded within her, wave after wave of incredible joy flooding her senses, cresting higher and higher with each violent pounding of his cock deep inside her. His own pleasure followed, his roar of release almost deafening as it resounded next to her ear.

"Sir!" she cried, screaming in delight as his orgasm only drove him deeper, faster, harder, impaling her over and over and over again. "Yes! _Yes!_"

Her sex clenched, desperate for more even as her body convulsed with pleasure, shuddering helplessly upon him. He didn't stop for even a moment, thrusting relentlessly until the last, sweet aftershocks had faded, and she went limp against the wall.

Weak and completely spent, Lucy closed her eyes, her chest heaving. Only his touch – the grip of his hand upon her wrists, his manhood still buried deep inside her – kept her from falling asleep where she stood.

As she regained her breath, fear cut through the haze of her fleeting pleasure. He had gotten what he had wanted of her; what might he do now?

The fifty pounds she had refused had, no doubt, been taken, and she would not be surprised if they had found their way to the Spider. Whether he would admit that he had received payment remained to be seen. For herself, she would demand nothing; her life having been spared was all she dared ask.

It was with dread that she realized just how little assurance she had of her safety. In her panic, she hadn't even thought to ensure his approval of their implied bargain – her body for her life – and now that he had no more use for her...

Thinking to entreat his favour, she gathered her courage to ask if he had found her pleasing, but no sooner had she opened her mouth than his lips were upon hers again. Only when his hunger seemed at last satisfied with a long, deep kiss did he finally let go of her wrists and withdraw from her. Lucy winced at the sharp pain of his absence; though used to discomfort, rarely had she been taken so roughly, or by men of such size. Her limbs, too, were weak with strain, and she wished for nothing more than to retire to her bed –_ alone_.

"Where is your room?" he whispered, and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.

If he were to kill her, surely he would do so here. The truth would lead him back to her should he wish to see her again, bringing with it the danger of his violent temperament, but the risk if he should discover her lie was simply too great.

"Behind the Rat, sir."

She held his gaze only a moment before closing her eyes, sleep beckoning. Perhaps he would visit her again, perhaps not; in the meantime, she would go there once he departed, and rest. Distantly, she heard him button his trousers, and her eyes snapped open as he pulled her from the wall.

"Let's go."

Was he to accompany her, then? Did he not believe her? Her heart skipped a beat, thankful she'd chosen to tell the truth. Nodding as he moved aside, she stepped forward – only to have the walking stick lower over her chest from behind.

"And if you're thinking of running," he said, twisting the ornate silver knob to reveal a blade within. "Don't."

An icy shiver coursed through her. He'd gotten what he wanted – why must he threaten her so?

"I understand, sir."

He sheathed and lowered the weapon, his arm wrapping about her waist to keep her close as they made their way back to the Red Rat, diverging from the path and circling around the back to the building where the whores made their wretched home.

All the while, Lucy wondered at his purpose, but dared not speak; his own silence made it clear that he wished to hear no more until it was asked of her. Her hand, which had taken hold of his arm around her without thought, clung to him as tightly as she dared, grateful for the embrace that meant she was, for the moment at least, safe.

He let go only so that they might climb the stairs to the second floor, and she tread carefully, taking the key to her room from a hidden fold of her skirt. Her free hand, he captured at the wrist, his firm grip a warning as they approached her door. She unlocked it and pushed it open, only to be shoved inside herself, stumbling forward into her meager abode.

The room wasn't much: a bed large enough to fit two, for her customers' comfort rather than her own; a standing wardrobe that doubled as a vanity; and two wooden chairs, one by the door and the other by the moonlit window. It was sparse, but altogether pleasing compared to the squalor common in the area, and a place that she had been reminded so many times was not truly her own. It belonged to whoever paid to seek entrance, and tonight, it was this frightening gentleman – this Mr. Hyde, as he had called himself.

"On your knees," he commanded, and she obeyed at once, falling to the worn wooden floor.

Behind her, the door closed. Another chill swept through her. Whatever happened in this room, she could be certain that no one would dare interfere; if he should wish to harm her, she had only her body and her wits to persuade him otherwise. Closing her eyes, she recalled the wonderful pleasure of only minutes ago, praying that her fears would once again prove unfounded. When she opened them again, he stood before her, his cock free and erect in his hand.

He took her chin between pinching fingers, tilting it up toward him.

"Open."

She parted her lips wide, but never could have prepared for his cock's invasion of her mouth, thick and demanding, filling her entirely with only half his length. He tasted of their lust, of musk and heady spice, but she didn't have the chance to put her tongue to much use; his hand tangled in her hair as he pushed deeper still, forcing himself all the way to the back of her throat. Struggling to breathe through her nose, she braced herself against his thighs.

"Hands behind your back!" he growled.

She complied, whimpering around the hard flesh, the sound eliciting from him a pleased groan. Drawing back, he thrust downward again, and her muscles clenched. She tried to block out the discomfort as he pumped deep into her throat, his fingers gripping her hair. Her sobs were silenced by the choking pressure of his cock, any sound she might make overpowered by the wet slide of him into her mouth over and over again. Tears fell down her flushed cheeks as she watched his face become wild with lust, moans of passion foretelling an impending climax.

Suddenly, he stilled, his cock straining so deep inside her that her lips pressed against his loins. With a grunt, he withdrew, and she fell forward, gasping and coughing violently at the sweet intake of air.

"Stand and undress."

He stepped away, ridding himself of his coat, and Lucy slowly rose onto unsteady feet, loosening her skirts. So, he hadn't finished with her yet; what else might he have in mind? The ache between her legs had become a soreness with the passing minutes, and she wiped the tears from her face, wishing he had contented himself with her mouth. It had only been by some miracle that her own pleasure had dulled the pain of his roughness before; how was she to endure him again so soon?

Her skirts fell about her feet, but she hadn't the chance to move them aside; warm hands grasped her waist, pulling her back against his naked body. He swept her hair from her shoulder, and his lips traced a warm path up and down her neck as he deftly unlaced her corset, pausing only a moment to remove it and the chemise beneath. The sweetness of his hot kisses along her throat was almost unbearable, and heat spread between her thighs, a helpless moan escaping her lips at the brush of his cock against her back. Maybe a second time wouldn't be so terrible…

"I meant what I said, Lucy," he whispered against her ear. "I'm going to make you scream."

Lucy trembled with fright as his hand closed around her neck. What could he be talking about? When had he said-

"In pain." He squeezed her throat, and she started to beg, but he released her to cover her mouth. His other hand slid beneath her knickers, finding the aching nub. "Or in pleasure."

She whimpered in bliss as his thumb massaged her in fast, hard circles, bringing her once more so close to climax that she could cry with the need for release. His strokes stilled, fingers lightly pinching the quivering flesh, and his hand fell from her mouth.

"It's your choice."

Careless with lust, she turned her head toward him, seeking his lips.

"Please," she begged, arching into his hand.

Her answer accepted, he kissed her, rough and demanding; she returned his ardour as passionately as she dared, the maddening pleasure of his strokes stealing her breath. He stopped to strip off her knickers, tossing them aside, and his hands roamed her torso, teasing at her sensitive nipples. She relaxed into his embrace, beyond fear or reason; there was only him, and the promise of pleasure.

He parted her trembling folds, two fingers plunging inside her. The soreness had abated under his skillful caresses, once more becoming a desperate ache. His fingertips rubbed hard and deep within her sex, hitting that wonderful spot, and she screamed.

"You like that, don't you, Lucy?"

"Yes, sir! Very much, sir!" she cried between ragged breaths, bracing for the climax just beyond her reach.

Laughing softly in her ear, he pulsed his fingers, and his other hand groped her breast, the pad of his thumb beating fast against her nipple. Lucy quivered, suffering in silence as he held her suspended over the edge of pleasure, her face contorted in unimaginable bliss.

"I know what you need," he growled, and thrust his rigid cock against her buttocks.

In shock, she arched, his fingers inside her curving to send her into absolute pleasure. Just as her sex began to spasm in joy, he withdrew, denying her. He pushed her toward the bed, and she stumbled, catching herself on the railing at the head.

"Lie face-down."

Shaking, she hastened to obey, her tears of desperation soaking the blanket. The mattress shifted under his weight as he climbed onto it, straddling her. He crossed her arms behind her back, pinning them there with one hand; with the other, he pulled upon her hair.

"On your knees," he said.

As she lifted her hips, her backside rubbed against his cock, and she whimpered, a rush of hot lust dripping from her opening, spread wide for him to see. The massive length settled there, his tip resting on her trembling folds. He pushed her head back down, turning it so that she could look up at him, and gripped his thick base.

Her mouth gaped open as he thrust slowly into her, filling her at an agonizing pace, and her sex clenched hard around him, hungry for more. All at once, he impaled her, burying himself to the hilt, and his tip rammed into the very place where she craved him most.

"Yes!"

With a dark laugh, he ground his hips against her, and she cried out, begging him to take her again. He obliged her, his cock perfectly angled to hit that ecstatic spot as he slammed into her hard enough to bruise, but she wanted it, all of it. Just as he had said, he knew exactly what she needed, and he gave it to her, pounding, pounding, _pounding_-

Lucy screamed as her climax tore through her, exploding deep within, the pleasure so intense that it was blinding, and yet she swore that she could see his face, his long dark hair wild and thrashing with each brutal thrust. The bed crashed into the wall again and again, matching the harsh impact of his furious pounding, but neither could compete with the sound of his rapturous release, bellowing like thunder as he spilled inside her.

The pleasure was just too much, and Lucy turned her face toward the mattress, her screaming muffled by the blanket, but he yanked her head up by her hair, a cry of pain ending her last, shaking throes of orgasm.

She moved with him to lessen the discomfort, and he held her there for a long moment as they caught their breath. His lips pressed against her ear.

"Always look to me."

"Y-yes, sir," she said, the tremor in her voice equal parts exhaustion and fear. She had been punished for breaking a rule she hadn't known existed; please, let it be left at that.

He withdrew and left the bed, but Lucy dared not move, frozen in place. Only when she heard him dressing did she lower herself to the mattress, and slowly. Her body was sore, and tired – yet, as she relaxed, she found that she was, for the first time, completely satisfied.

She glanced over when she heard him approach, going limp as he turned her onto her back. Again, he straddled her, and she looked up at him in fearful expectation. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes at the tender gesture, relieved. _Always_, he had said; he meant to come back to her. It was of small comfort, but at least it meant that he would not-

The back of his hand smashed into her face.

Hot tears streamed from her tightly-shut eyelids, the blow dizzying. Was it because she had ceased to look at him? What if that strike would not be the last? She opened her eyes, ready to beg forgiveness for her offense, but he gripped her chin, quieting her.

"That was for denying me," he said. "You won't make that mistake again, will you, Lucy?"

"No, sir."

If only she had known then what exquisite pleasures awaited, she might have been spared the pain and the fear, but there was no changing the past; all she could do was hope that amends could be made.

"And then there is the matter of your running away…"

He reached into his coat pocket and produced something that caught a flash of moonlight. A knife.

"No, sir, _please_-!"

His hand covered her mouth, the blade drawing nearer.

"Shh," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Despite his assurance, he brought the knife to her neck, its sharp edge scraping across her skin; one flick of his wrist, and her throat would be slit. This gruesome truth was the only thing that kept her from whimpering, her tortured eyes begging for the mercy her lips could not.

At last, he returned the weapon to its place and removed his hand from her mouth, but she knew better than to speak just now.

"Let that be a warning to you." He sneered down at her. "I could end your life in a moment. If I ever draw a blade on you again, it will be to kill. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she sobbed.

His hands cupped her breasts, playing with the nipples that hardened at his touch. Pleasure mingled with the pain as her head throbbed, her battered body beyond its limit, and she fought not to drift into sleep, and, remembering his warning, focused on his gaze. She began to relax under his soothing caress, warm and almost gentle; how could so violent a man take such care of her? His fingers explored her bare skin, from the tops of her shoulders to her knees, and began to close in on her aching centre, his thumbs moving in teasing circles as they drew near the lips of her sex.

By the time a fingertip settled on her swollen peak, she was gasping, new, hot lust dripping from her entrance. He taunted her, alternately rubbing the hardened nub and lightly patting her sex until she begged for more, for his touch, for release, but he denied her. His index finger traced her folds, soft and wet in readiness for him, and she shut her eyes against the beautiful torture.

As soon as she did, two fingers thrust deep inside her, different than before. Not to provide pleasure, but to invade, to claim, and she looked at him in fear. His eyes were dark and dangerous – the eyes of a killer.

"This cunt belongs to me now."

Unsure what to say, Lucy nodded, but his merciless fingers pushed deeper, and she winced at the pressure, anticipating pain.

"From this night on, you will see no one else," he said. "You are my whore, Lucy, and mine alone."

His fingertips curved, skillfully rubbing where she needed him, and a shock of pleasure raced through her.

"Say it."

"I'm your whore, sir," she moaned. "Only yours."

At her answer, his fingers fucked her in hard, relentless thrusts. He grasped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye as the fiery bliss overtook her. Ecstatic, desperate pleas fell from her lips, and with one last stroke, her orgasm crested in a scream of joy.

She whimpered as he teased the pleasure out of her, prolonging it until she was left shaking and utterly helpless. His lips claimed hers in the final moments, and he withdrew his fingers only to unfasten his trousers again. He sat up, his cock in his hand, and his lust-slicked fist pumped up and down his thick shaft with furious, rapid strokes. Lucy gasped as he pushed her head up toward him, just far enough that he could thrust into her mouth. She swirled her tongue wildly over his tip, desperate to please him, but he pushed deeper, deeper, fucking her throat as she choked around him. That was all he needed, and he climaxed with a shout, erupting in a hot spurt inside her.

Coughing as he withdrew, she swallowed with difficulty, her voice too hoarse to speak even if she dared. He rubbed the head of his cock against her lips, grinning as he did so, and Lucy found there an oddly familiar smile. She watched with curiosity as he adjusted himself and went to her water basin, proceeding to carefully wash his hands.

He was peculiar, this Mr. Hyde. While the men she had known before smelled of trades – meat, smoke, sweat – he smelled of new linen, clean wool, and a musky cologne. Though his tone was often harsh, his speech itself was refined and clever, accented with an education far from the East End. The very hands she saw now were strong, but smooth, and she'd felt no marks of labour upon them; if she were to glimpse more of his body beyond what lay beneath his trousers, she expected she'd find the same of the rest of him. And then, of course, there was the money.

It was not uncommon for rich men to slum about in disguise, but most were far more discrete, lest they become targets. It was even sometimes the case that such men took on a new name, and in the dim moonlight, the outline of Mr. Hyde's face reminded her so very much of-

"I'll return in a few days," he said. "You're not to leave this room until then. In the meantime, I'll see that you're provided for."

"Thank you, sir," she whispered.

He kissed her before leaving, hard and rough, and any illusions Lucy may have had about her mysterious benefactor were shattered.

Except for a passing resemblance, there was nothing at all the same about this brute and the kind gentleman whose card was even now in the pocket of her skirt. To think that they should have anything in common beyond fortune and a handsome face would be to lose a friend and gain an impossible enemy.

The lingering pain fought with the memory of pleasure, and as darkness closed in, of one fact, Lucy was absolutely certain:

There was no connection between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.


	2. Chapter 2

When Lucy awoke, it was to the sound of footsteps in the hall. Their echo inspired a sudden fear, and she turned onto her other side to face away from the door. Sometime during the night, she had crawled under the blanket, and she curled beneath it now to shield her naked body against the cold of morning. It was then that the soreness began, and the memory of the previous night returned.

Heaven knew she was accustomed to a man's roughness, but this was something else, something _more_. The usual pain was sharp and precise, a result of the relentless but brief pursuit of pleasure, which dealt her body an injury quickly, though not easily, recovered from. This, however, was an _ache_, one which filled her sex entirely, the soft walls tender and sensitive. The greatest discomfort was in the deepest place, where his brutal thrusts had bruised her with their impact, just as the crash of his hips had left their mark upon her buttocks and thighs. Her every muscle cried out for the mercy of sleep again, but when she closed her eyes, she could see only him.

_Hyde_. That had been the man's name, and as details of their encounter fell into place, it was one she grew to fear – indeed, it was the possibility of his return which had woken her. But the tread of boot-clad feet outside her door was too light to be his own, and too clumsy besides; whoever lingered there scraping with an unsteady hand was either unable to turn the handle, or had no intention of doing so. One of the girls, perhaps, ill with drink, or else still suffering its effects by morning. Less likely, but possible, was that a patron had stayed the night and found himself stumbling home at an early hour, hopefully before the Spider could notice and claim payment for an entire evening of the girl's services, no matter how the hours had been spent.

The _clink_ of glass, however, told another story, and Lucy turned back as the person managed to enter at last. It was Nellie, carrying a tray, its contents unclear in the dim light. Lucy could scarcely believe she had not recognized the movements outside as hers, regardless of her burden. Had terror so easily fooled her?

"Don't get up," Nellie said. "Ain't no reason for the trouble. It's only breakfast."

Even for her friend, it was too kind a gesture, and besides, none of the girls owned glassware, nor would they be permitted to take any from the Red Rat's kitchen. There could only be one reason why she would be served like this, and his name sent a chill through her heart.

"Mr. Hyde says you're to stay in, an' the Spider told me to mind you myself." The woman placed the tray on the bed and went to open the curtains, blinding sunlight spilling through the window. "I don't know if I should be jealous, or pityin' you."

"I don't, either," Lucy said, pulling the tray closer to find the usual fare: tea, bread, cheese, and two peeled boiled eggs. "What happened?"

"I was about to ask you that. Last I saw, you were runnin' away."

"I tried."

That was all she needed to say. Nellie sat on the edge of the mattress, fixing up the tea the way she knew Lucy liked it.

"I was with the Spider when he came back. Thought he'd come to take his fifty pounds, but he gave even more, to pay for what's broke and get the Spider to say he'd make sure you never left here. Said you'd be his only now."

Lucy sat up and opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Even her friend was in Hyde's employ, if indirectly, and anything she said might find its way back to him. She trusted Nellie, but not the will of her body to withstand the fists of the cruel man who considered Lucy his.

Men like him grew tiresome, for no matter their proclivity toward one woman, they soon took their fancies elsewhere. There was sometimes a type of man who thought to find the innocence remaining in those fallen and sought to save them, but they were often too poor to be of any real help, and out of their own guilt, they abandoned the symbol of their redemption before long. If such a man were rich, as Hyde was, he would make her his mistress and take her away from here entirely. Lucy held out little hope of that, for there was no guilt in him that she could tell. He would use her, he would tire of her, and he would leave her, just like all the rest. It was only a matter of time.

She lifted the hunk of bread along with the cheese, about to take a bite, and winced. That blow to her face had done more damage than she'd thought, but she supposed she should count herself lucky. A shiver raced through her at the memory of cold metal beneath her chin in the alley, and the scratch of a blade against her throat here in this very bed. It was only by some miracle – and likely the allure of a body unmarred – that she had not had far, far worse.

"I don't suppose my board includes some gin?" she asked, hoping for something to dull the ache, and broke her food into smaller, more manageable pieces.

"For the price that man paid, the Spider should be feedin' you from Her Majesty's plate, but this is all we've got unless you want breakfast at tea. I'll sneak 'round to the Rat an' see what I can find."

"Thanks, Nellie." She bit into an egg, much easier on her hurting jaw, but when her friend turned to go, she caught her hand. "When did he say he'd be back?"

"Ain't given a time, I'm afraid."

The _few days_ he'd referred to would have to be enough, then; she only hoped it would be sufficient to allow her to heal. Enduring his pleasure thus far had taken a toll, and to be had by him while injured…

Lucy groaned, her sex throbbing at the phantom sensation of him inside her. It wasn't painful so much as uncomfortable, and preferable by far to the agony she might have known had he not found her own pleasure enjoyable. Would he be as pleasing a second evening? Perhaps if she were meek and compliant, he would share with her that joy again, this time without a bruised cheek to show for it.

Nellie left and returned with a good supply of gin, and some laudanum besides; it was just what she needed to make it through the next three days, restored by food and rest until at last the pain had subsided and the world had become blessedly peaceful but for the expectation of her benefactor's return.

On the fourth day, however, Lucy woke with a start, again to the sound of movement in the hallway. It was only the slam of a door, followed by laughter, and the darkness warned that it was already nightfall. She got up and looked out the window to find the moon where it was at about ten o'clock on a clear night, and tried to remember when she had last eaten. It didn't much matter; her stomach growled, empty, and as the numbness of sleep wore off, she found herself lightheaded with hunger.

If Nellie was occupied and no one else had thought to feed her by now, she doubted a meal was forthcoming, and she knew too well the price gin exacted for its help in returning her to sleep. The night was young yet; she would go in search of food and be back long before she would even be noticed.

Lucy donned her usual attire, a threadbare red bodice and matching skirt, foregoing a corset for a simple garment which cinched in the waist and clasped at the front for easy removal. She took only a moment to rouge her lips – she still had an appearance to maintain – and brush the snags out of her tousled hair before buttoning her short boots and heading down to the Red Rat.

By her counting, it was a Monday, not one of their busiest nights, and she was proven right by the sight of the nearly-empty music hall, which at moment played no music at all. She hurried to the bar and found behind it a friendly face who would let her eat on credit, asking for a meat pie and anything other than gin. It was delivered in swift order and devoured just as soon, delicious to her starved body, and the strength returned to her limbs. A few swallows of ale later, she slammed the mug down, ready to return upstairs, but a tap upon her shoulder caused her to jump.

She turned to find a tradesman she had known once, with rough hands, the kind whose fingers pinched at her buttocks and breasts but otherwise found no use for her body, to say nothing of his thoughtless violation of her sex. Ignorant of her lack of arousal and finished in mere minutes, he had nevertheless insisted that she enjoyed it, calling her every filthy name he could think of as she endured the pain. It was his type she most loathed, not for his carelessness, but for the arrogance of his mistreatment – the very type of man she had mistaken another for, and to a great cost.

"'Ello, Lucy. How's about another of those?"

"Not tonight," she answered with a smile, gritting her teeth against the stench of sweat and grime.

"Just one." The gleam in his eye and the slur of his tongue told her that he'd already had more than his share of drink. "An' then we can go up, the two of us."

"I'm spoken for. He's waiting on me."

The man laughed.

"I don't see 'im. Come on, Lucy. Don't take me for a fool. No man with the likes of you would let you out of 'is sight."

"No." She stood, weaving around the portly man with ease, but he grabbed her from behind, turning her around, and moved in for a kiss as she struggled to free herself. Of all the times for the Spider _not_ to be keeping a watchful eye on her…

Suddenly, she was yanked back, thrown into another man's chest.

"She is _mine_."

Lucy shuddered at the growl, recognizing its owner in an instant, and looked up to see Hyde leveling a deadly glare at the man before them. With tears in her eyes, she lay her hand over his own at her waist and relaxed against him, searching for words to plead for her safety but not trusting her tongue to put them to good use. His fingers entwined with hers, his embrace as protective as it was possessive, and she surrendered entirely, praying she'd be given a chance to explain.

"Is she now? I don't see your name on 'er." The man laughed again, stepping closer. "I ain't afraid of some toff. Let the girl go and we can settle this like men."

If he'd been here four nights ago, he'd think better of a challenge like that. She'd watched her changeable protector fell a giant of a man and then three more ill-fated rivals like it was nothing. This man may be larger, but he was slow, and drunk besides; Lucy had no doubt that he would lose.

Hyde smiled.

"Agreed."

Despite the acknowledgement, he waited until the man had passed them by to release her, spinning her about to face him. Her eyes wild with fear, she said nothing as he grasped her chin hard, her knees shaking at the rage she saw in his gaze, praying it wasn't directed at her.

"Don't. Move."

She nodded, and he turned his back on her, adjusting his grip on the silver-knobbed walking stick as he exited the door his challenger had taken. Lucy almost collapsed, catching herself on the bar.

She should run. She should go now, as fast as her feet could carry her, and disappear into the night. Yet, her legs would not obey, for if he were to return before she could make it to the other door, she had no doubt that she would be dead sooner than she could even beg for her life – if she was lucky. If she was not…

Returning to her seat, she ordered another ale, desperate for something to calm her frayed nerves. It was a shame she hadn't thought to bring the bottle of laudanum with her; a drop or two right now might steady her enough to face him without falling to her knees with fright the moment he touched her in anger.

Downing the glass, she sat in silence, trying to quiet her mind and not think of what was happening outside, nor what would happen once it was over. She had been caught – that much was fact. But then, what was she to have done? Starved? As long as he knew it was out of need, not betrayal, that she had broken his very first rule, perhaps he'd—

A hard yank on her hair made her cry out with pain, almost falling off the stool as looked up to find Hyde leering down at her. He'd returned victorious, as she knew he would. There was no sign of the other man.

"I told you not to move."

So he had. But couldn't he have meant not to leave the Red Rat? Maybe if she put it that way…

"I-I didn't know what you meant, sir," she stuttered, her carefully-crafted excuse abandoning her in sheer terror, and he pulled upon her hair again.

"I said you were not to leave your room."

She opened her mouth to explain, but how could she give the reason? It was Nellie's responsibility to mind her now; who knew what might happen to her if he found out she had neglected an order? It was best not to name her friend at all.

"I went to go find the Spider so I could pass on a message to you-,"

"You're lying." He lay his hand over hers on the bar, holding it down as he bent one of her fingers back, poised to break it.

"No, please!" she begged, looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"Tell me the truth."

"I was hungry, sir, that's all," she sobbed. "It's the truth, I swear it!"

He let go, and his grip on her hair loosened, merely holding her head against his chest.

"Was that so difficult?" he whispered.

Lucy sniffed, shaking with relief. "No, sir."

His hand slowly wrapped around her neck, exerting a subtle pressure, and she understood at once the implied threat.

"Never lie to me again."

Uncertain if she was meant to reply, Lucy only nodded. Without another word, he pulled her from her seat and took hold of her wrist, bending her arm behind her back as he pushed her forward, forcing her to lead the way to her room.

The journey was brief and passed in silence, but to her racing heart and mind, it could not end quickly enough, even as she dreaded their arrival. What were his intentions? He would, no doubt, take her to bed, but how would he proceed? Would his arms enfold her once more, overtaking her senses again in that joyful possession – or would she be spurned and denied that pleasure, merely used and discarded? Worse yet, what might he do about her rebellion?

At the top of the staircase, she hesitated, and his fingers dug painfully into her skin.

"I have to get the key, sir," she whimpered.

He released her, allowing her to retrieve it, but before she could put it to use, he snatched it from her and spun her around, backing her up against the door. Flinching in fear, she closed her eyes, and gasped as his lips brushed her own, their heat igniting the flame of desire she'd kept at bay these past lonely days.

She moaned at the sweet invasion of his tongue, exploring, teasing, and she kissed him back hungrily, relief flooding through her. Perhaps she may yet win back the pleasure her betrayal had forsaken…

Giving in completely, she hardly noticed he'd opened the door until she had been guided through it and pressed against the wall. He pulled back, setting his weapon aside, and she caught her breath, struggling to regain her senses as he lit the mounted lamp beside them and blew out the match.

With a renewed, ferocious kiss, he embraced her, his hands sliding down to her buttocks, freeing her own to settle upon his chest. What liberties might she be allowed to take? Surely, if he found something displeasing, he would say so – hopefully without a painful reprimand to deter her.

Her eager fingers slipped beneath his open coat to savour the warmth of his hot, hard body, the fabric of his shirt the only thing between her and the skin she longed to touch. She daren't work at the buttons – that was too forward – but a suggestive caress just above his trousers might inspire him to give the command she hoped for.

Slowly, her hands descended, and when he made no move to stop her, she continued, stroking carefully down his stomach until her fingers brushed something wet. She made a sound of surprise, and he pulled back. By the light of the nearby lamp, she saw what had alarmed her: scattered smears of crimson, still fresh.

_Blood._

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, any trace of gentleness gone as she took her hands from him. She'd known, of course, the outcome of his row with the man outside the pub, but not its aftermath. The red markings could have merely come from the wipe of bloody knuckles after giving a few knocks. It didn't mean…

"What happened?" she asked, a whisper to placate the darkness in his gaze, knowing he expected the question.

"He begged on his knees," he replied, his grin terrifying. "Much as you will, my sweet Lucy."

Her breath shuddered, tears welling up, but she refused to cry and encourage his taunting.

"Did you spare him, sir?"

"I left him alive." He leaned closer, his lips pressed to her ear. "It was _death_ that he begged for."

Lucy trembled, her knees weakening in fright. She had known her share of killers – had been forced to let them into her bed – but never had one boasted so openly to her, such things reserved for his fellows. Why did he insist on sharing this with her? She had already been bought; intimidation served no purpose but to torment her. Then again, those other men had killed out of necessity or occupation. This one would kill for his own amusement – and she had no intention of making herself his next victim.

It was with a shaking hand that she touched him again, avoiding the damp spot in favour of the top of his trousers.

"Please, sir," she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

That was all she needed to say, and he released her, slamming the door shut behind them and dragging her closer to the bed. His hands pushed down on her shoulders, and she sank to her knees as he unbuttoned his trousers.

Knowing well that she begged for her life, she used her tongue to plead in place of her words, eagerly stroking and sucking until his grip upon her hair tightened. Before he could demand more of her, she surged forward, forcing his cock down her throat as deep as she could take him. She ignored the searing pain of each choking movement, pumping fast and hard, and channeled her agony into a great moan.

He climaxed with a shout, spilling hot and thick, and pulled out. Lucy gasped for air, glancing up to find his eyes burning with anger, a sneer upon his face. What had she done wrong? Had that not been what he wanted?

"Never do that again unless I tell you to," he growled, his fingertips pinching her chin in a bruising grip.

Perhaps she had taken too much control; yes, that must be it. Her desperation to please had been her undoing, but it hadn't been for naught. _Again_, he had said. She would be given another chance.

"Yes, sir."

She was promptly wrenched to her feet and shoved into the side of the bed, catching herself by sitting on its edge as he removed his coat. Perhaps in response to her wary glance, he took off his shirt as well, revealing a proud, muscular torso, well-formed by the pursuit of athletics rather than labour. He stalked toward her, his erotic intention written on every feature, and she relaxed, offering herself up to him with a gentle arch.

His deft fingers made quick work of her bodice and skirt, both tossed to the floor. With a teasing kiss to her neck, he leaned over her, making her lie back as he stripped her naked. Her bare skin tingled with pleasure under the warm stroke of his hand, leisurely roaming her breasts, and she looked to the rigid cock protruding from his open trousers, a whimper of fear and longing escaping her lips.

Her sex pulsed with arousal, but it wasn't quite the overwhelming heat of several nights ago; if he were to enter her now, she could only imagine pain. Perhaps if he would oblige her with the stroke of his fingers – but did she dare ask?

He lifted her up, setting her back against the pillows, and she resigned herself to his whim, hoping that the pain would be brief. As he settled over her, she moaned at his teasing kiss upon her neck, but he didn't stop there. His lips forged a scorching path along her throat and down, further, to the top of her breasts, then between them. Suddenly, he sucked an aching nipple into his mouth, lavishing it with quick, hard strokes of his tongue until she cried out in pleasure, and stopped.

But he was far from done with his blissful torment. His mouth continued downward, kissing her stomach, the line of her hip, the inside of her thigh, all with slow, deliberate movements that left her gasping for more, and as his hot breath teased at her throbbing nub, she understood at last his intention.

He spread her legs and took hold of her wrists, pinning them down, the weight of his arms upon her knees keeping them wide open, her wet, quivering sex bared to him completely. With a wicked grin, his mouth descended.

Lucy whimpered in pleasure as his tongue devoured her, hot, rapid strokes beating against her swollen bud without mercy, licking, rubbing, swirling as her sex dripped with lust. He paused to taste her, thrusting up into her aching passage, and she begged, ready to receive him – yet, she hoped he wouldn't stop.

Taking her nub into his mouth, he growled deep, the vibrations rumbling through her entire body, and she forgot herself, straining against his iron grip as he renewed his assault, trapping the aching peak between his lips for the ravenous torture of his tongue, until at last, she shattered.

Climaxing with a scream, she wept, not only in joy, but at the betrayal of her body, thrashing as if to resist him though she wanted nothing more than for his cock to pound her cunt again and again and never let this ecstasy fade away.

But fade it did, slipping from her as she shuddered with release, and with one final arch, she went limp. Tears streamed into her hair, her breath coming in gasps as she prayed her fit of bliss would be understood and forgiven. He laughed against her, his tongue circling her entrance, and she moaned, desire stirring within her again.

Numb with pleasure and relief, she focused on his teasing, and within moments, her inner walls clenched, burning with hunger for him. All at once, she was released and pulled into his arms, turned to face the foot of the bed. He placed her hands on the bed rails, and through the haze of desire, she heard him remove his trousers.

Spreading herself wide for him, she welcomed the first, slow thrust of his cock, just the tip. The fear and the pain were gone. All that remained was raw, animal lust.

He grasped her hips and rammed deep, his incredible girth stroking the spot where she craved him most, and she cried out in shock, almost climaxing again.

She whimpered as he withdrew until his tip rested just inside her. The instant her quivering sex relaxed, he slammed into her again, this time impaling her completely upon him. She jolted forward with a scream of pleasure, so close, so close-

He pulled her up against him, grinding deep as he pinned her arms behind her back with one of his own, a hand wrapping around her throat. For once, it was only a caress, and she moaned with each stroke of his cock, her lust dripping onto his loins and down her thighs.

Every circle of his hips was pure bliss, just hard enough to leave her straining for release, but not to grant it. Her head fell back to rest upon his shoulder, and she looked up into his eyes, begging wordlessly for mercy.

Instead, he kissed her, his hand at her neck straying to tease her aching nipples and stroke her quivering nub, but these pleasures were fleeting. He withdrew nearly all the way and gripped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye as he thrust back in, slow, hard, searching – and arched right into that miraculous spot.

Lucy's mouth gaped open and released a long, loud moan, her entire body quivering, clinging desperately to the edge of orgasm. With one push, she would fall, but he would not relent, for he had gotten exactly what he wanted: the key to making her his whore in every way.

"Please, sir," she whimpered. _"Please!"_

Not until now had she been so completely at his mercy, and his power to command her pleasure was absolute. He could make her climax at his whim, or deny her, and at a single glance, she would do _anything_ for her release. All this, they both understood without a word needing to be spoken.

He withdrew, bending her over again, and set her hands upon the railing once more. Lucy shuddered with anticipation as he thrust just inside, entwining their fingers. His lips pressed against her ear.

"Beg."

Desperate pleas fell from her lips in a breathless torrent, frantic and utterly shameless. She begged him to pound her cunt, and when that wasn't enough, she cried out for mercy, swearing that she was his whore alone. At last, her pleas were answered.

With a roar, he impaled her, and she screamed as pure joy tore through her. This time, he held nothing back, giving her all of him as he pounded her, hitting that spot with every single thrust until ecstasy overcame her in a wild, rapturous climax.

She clenched around him desperately, her orgasm gripping him tight, but even as she shuddered and relaxed, he didn't stop. He kept ramming her deep, pounding her mercilessly, and before long, that glorious bliss returned and she was screaming again. Climax after climax ravaged her body, one after another without relief. His guttural moans grew louder, signaling the imminent end, and Lucy prayed she'd reach fulfillment again before his own satisfaction might deny her this last, incredible pleasure.

Bracing herself for the final climax, she arched as hard as she could, reaching for it-

Suddenly, his teeth tore into her shoulder, biting down as he growled with release, and Lucy screamed, this time in pain and shock.

The agony was lessened by her arousal, but not nearly enough to withstand such an injury. Her confused and battered body denied her satisfaction, tensing to protect itself, and his last, brutal thrusts brought the pain she had so feared. Finally, he stilled inside her and unclamped his mouth from her flesh, withdrawing.

Lucy sobbed, shaking as the shock wore off and the true pain set in. Even so, her sex quivered, the lingering desire as much a torment as his assault.

"Why?" she whimpered.

_"__You are mine."_

The growl was hardly human, and she wept in horror. What monster had taken possession of her? She'd begged, she'd pleaded, she'd promised him everything, and still he had not shown her even a trace of mercy. But even if the assault had been spontaneous, its purpose was not. Any man who looked upon her naked would see his mark, branded into her skin forever.

She flinched with fright as the mattress moved beneath her, but it was only him pulling on his trousers and leaving the bed, crossing in front of her to go to her vanity. Dreading what might happen next, she forced herself to watch him out of the corner of her eye. If she could anticipate him, maybe she'd manage to get through this night without further injury.

He took the pitcher of water from its place, pouring it directly into his mouth, and spat into the basin. Swiping the bottle of gin next to it, he turned to face her, bringing it with him as he climbed back into the bed behind her. She shuddered at the touch of his hand upon her shoulder, moving her hair aside to bare her injury to him.

"Please, sir, don't-,"

She screamed as he poured the gin onto the wound, the alcohol searing into her flesh, and she thrashed, lucky that she had not let go of the bed railing, or else she might have swung at him.

Abruptly, he got up, going toward the door. Was he leaving? His distance gave her courage, and she summoned her anger, hoping he would never come back.

"Yes, go on, then! I hope you got your money's worth, _sir_. Just 'cause you pay for me, it ain't given you the right to—,"

He turned, and a flash of light caught Lucy's eye, silencing her. His fist covered the silver tip of his weapon, and his cold eyes bore into her own as she remembered his warning.

_If I ever draw a blade on you again, it will be to kill._

His fingers began to twist the knob.

"No, please!"

She scrambled off the bed, falling hard upon the floor, and crawled to him on her knees. Wrapping her arms around his leg, she pressed herself against him, hoping she might spark enough desire in him to delay. She stared up at him, her gaze darting frantically between his face and the hand poised to end her life.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'm sorry. Please – please don't-"

But his hand kept turning, the knob easing loose, and tears streamed down Lucy's cheeks.

"I'll do anything you like, sir! _Anything!_ Please don't kill me!"

Finding nothing but death in his gaze, she buried her face against his thigh, her body wracked with heaving sobs as she chanted her plea over and over, begging him to spare her. Finally, something cold brushed her face, but not the blade she had expected – it was the silver knob, still fastened, and he pressed it under her chin, forcing her to rise up high as she could.

He smiled, the terrifying, sinister grin freezing the blood in her veins into ice.

"I told you that you would beg on your knees."

Had he planned every moment of this? Perhaps it had all been but a cruel game – perhaps she was safe. She prayed it was so, and looked to him with pleading eyes, her trembling lips struggling to form her desperate question.

"Are you going to kill me, sir?"

He stroked her tear-stained cheek.

"Not tonight," he said, almost disinterested.

His hand tangled in her hair, and he took the weapon away as he pushed her face against his groin. If he thought she'd be of service because she was thankful, he was deranged; she was, however, desperate not to provoke his anger, and dragged her lips along the bulge beneath his trousers. He was already aroused, but with her attention, he swelled even larger, the massive length fully erect and straining so hard the buttons holding him back nearly burst open.

In spite of herself and the pain of her injury, Lucy's sex clenched and quivered, aching to be filled, hot, wet lust dripping from her opening. He moaned, pulling her head back.

"Now, open your mouth."

She did as he commanded, giving no resistance as he used her throat to his satisfaction, the agony of it brief, and when he withdrew, her eyes gleamed with desire.

"My sweet, sweet whore," he whispered, and gripped the base of his shaft, the thick column of hot flesh still hard. "Your cunt is desperate for another pounding, isn't it?"

"Yes." She daren't lie. "Please…"

He reached down and pinched her nipple, the pain somehow sweet, and when he rolled it between his fingertips, a slow, burning climax coursed through her in rising waves. With a moan, she arched back and shuddered. Her body was on fire, her sex crying out for him, her mouth pouring anguished pleas for more.

"No." He pushed himself back into his trousers, buttoning up.

Without another word, he gathered his things, and walked out the door.

It wasn't until he left that she realized he had taken her key.


	3. Chapter 3

It was far too cold a night to be alone. Even the constant coming and going of inebriated riff raff in hastily-buttoned trousers had abated, and all was eerily quiet in the squalid room Lucy had the misfortune of making her home. She shivered in her bed, curled into the position of one desperate for warmth, every item of clothing or other material of note piled high upon her; still, nothing could bring relief to the immobilizing chill of mid-October after nightfall. There was but one fireplace in the building where the girls paid for the privilege of being kept by the very man who employed them, and it was far from here. It would not have surprised her if the streets were warmer on a night like this one, a theory she was but one more teeth-chatter away from testing herself.

There was no clock within her room; a whore's time was measured in the small, slender candles whose end marked the limit of service, however often ignored. Lucy gave thought to burning all of hers this night; after all, she had no need of them, for Hyde had claimed her exclusively for his own. It was, by her counting, many hours past sunset, and yet her benefactor was nowhere to be found. Had even that fearsome man been deterred by the sudden chill in the city? On any other night, she would be thankful for his absence; now, she would fan the fires of hell itself for a chance at warmth and the sleep which eluded her.

If the Red Rat were full to capacity, the crush of bodies would be heat enough, and if not, there was sure to be a fire somewhere. Perhaps there was some corner in which she might find rest, and who would remove her from the building so naturally her domain? With numb fingers, she pulled back the blanket and dragged herself into the biting autumn air, taking a second-hand men's coat from the mass of fabric. Having donned it over her chemise and drawers, she laced up her boots and began to make haste toward her destination.

Before she could reach it, however, she spied a small crowd gathered in the alley leading to the back door of the sordid music hall. The contents of a tall rubbish bin had been set aflame, but there was little reason to think mischief had been done; it was a common sight in these parts, and by its light, she recognized several of her fellow whores. She would stop to converse a while – how long had it been since she had even seen most of them? – and warm herself without risking the ever-watchful gaze of the Spider. The man may no longer dare to lay a hand upon her, for to do so would anger her only patron, but there were many ways he may yet bring her ruin, not the least of which was to report to Hyde the little act of defiance this cold night had evoked.

She drew her coat more tightly about herself, bypassing the dark corridors which diverged from her path to hurry toward the source of much-needed heat – and collided with a figure emerging from the shadows. Two hands grabbed her wrists; she twisted, trying to free herself, but their grip was like iron. A stray flame from the bonfire flashed across the man's face. It was Hyde.

Her eyes widened in terror, a cry of surprise stuttering from her parted lips, and she stood frozen for a moment before ceasing her resistance.

"Oh, it's you, sir!" she said.

Any further appeasement was cut short as Lucy found herself yanked into the darkness from which he had come, spun around and pushed face-first into the rough brick, her arms crossed and pinned behind her back.

"Why weren't you waiting for me?"

The threatening growl against her ear, so distinctively his, left no room for lies or hesitation; the simple truth would have to be enough. She turned her head to better answer him, and a hand pressed against her hair, keeping her in place.

"It's very cold in my room tonight, sir, I just wanted-"

"I could have kept you warm."

_Could have_. There was something ominous about the way he had phrased that, an unfinished thought that implied _but now, it's too late._

"Are you angry, sir?" she asked, the gritty surface of the wall scraping against her cheek as she spoke.

"Yes."

One word, and any composure Lucy may have had was gone, replaced by abject terror. That he had so violently thrown her around was little cause for concern as long as he made no attempt to injure her, but once he had made up his mind to hurt her, she had yet to convince him otherwise.

"Please, sir, I'm sorry," she said in haste, knowing that every moment wasted was one closer to pain. "I'll wait for you every night from now on, I promise."

The collar of her coat was pulled aside, and a sharp yank upon her chemise bared her shoulder to him.

"Hold still now, and I'll be lenient."

It was no surprise that he would ignore her plea; what was unusual was that he did not intend to wait until his lust had been satisfied to make good on his threat.

"What's that mean?" she asked, but more importantly, what did it mean to him?

"It means I won't leave any… _permanent _damage."

Tears sprang to her eyes. Was there nothing she could do?

"Please wait," she whispered past a muffled sob. "Please."

She shuddered as his lips touched her shoulder. Her assumption had been wrong; he had meant she was to hold still while he took what he needed, and thereafter he would-

"Ah!" she cried as his teeth bit her flesh, hard enough to surprise but not yet to break the skin. Not a hand's distance below bore the mark of where such inclinations could lead, the semi-circle of scars closed and healing well thanks to Dr. Jekyll's help. That wound had seemed to be in the heat of passion, even if he had intended it; she dreaded what would happen now if he had taken to biting her at his whim.

A hand closed about her throat, and she whimpered in pleading, preparing for another such assault. Cold tears streaked down her face, falling onto his fingers.

"Shh," he whispered. "It needn't be painful."

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded, leaning back against him, and tried to relax. He stepped back and took her hands, bracing them against the wall over her head, and pulled her hips back into him. The heat of his body spread through her as he bent and thrust against her backside, hard and straining through his trousers. He would be hot, and if he were so inclined, could share with her a pleasure so great she would melt with it. Just the thought brought a warmth and a wetness between her legs.

The front of her chemise was pulled down, exposing her breasts; her nipples already hardened by the cold, his fingertips upon them shocked her with their heat, and she gasped as he lightly pinched her, forefingers and thumbs massaging the aching buds between them. His lips drew lazy circles about her neck; when his tongue took their place, she moaned, yearning for the pleasure she would be denied in this position.

One hand strayed, moving slowly to the hem of her knickers, and her breath caught in anticipation as he slipped beneath it to run his fingertips over the indent of her closed folds. Gently, he parted them, finding the hardened nub aching for his touch, and she cried out with the first, hard swipe of his finger against it.

She bit her lip to stop herself from making too much noise as he continued, mercilessly beating against the spot that made her whimper with pleasure; lust slickened her sex, easing the shock of his strokes, and she tensed, readying herself.

His hand upon her breast ceased its movement and retreated, and she could feel him unbuttoning his trousers. She arched, muted sounds of ecstasy humming through her lips as she drew close, and let out a near-silent scream at the onset of a rapturous orgasm.

No sooner had she reached fulfillment than her coat was moved aside and her knickers pulled down, and with one hard thrust, he was deep inside her. His tip rammed into the very source of her lust as it still trembled, and she cried out again as wave after wave of blissful aftershocks coursed through her, driven nearly to a second climax by the steady pulsing of his manhood against the shuddering walls of her sex.

"Please wait," she whispered without thinking, and cursed herself for her stupidity. _Wait _was not something she dared tell such a man.

"Why?" he asked, impaling her completely before he paused, and she panted, so close to the brink of climax that she could hardly speak.

"Th-they'll hear us, sir."

Normally, a quick split of the muff in an alley was of no concern, but this was no ordinary encounter. It had been difficult enough not to shout her pleasure at the top of her lungs just now; when he filled her as she knew he would, bringing her to orgasm again, there would be no stopping the announcement of her sheer helplessness to those around the corner.

His dark laughter against her ear made her dread how he may respond, but she couldn't think of anything to say that might allay his displeasure with her. Suddenly, his hand was upon her mouth, and she braced herself for some sort of pain, but it never occurred. Instead, he began moving again, thrusting slowly against where he knew she was most sensitive; then, he took her hard and fast, until she whimpered into his hand, nearing her peak, and he stopped, beginning all over again.

Lucy was vaguely aware of movement from the direction in which she had been walking when Hyde had intercepted her, but so lost was she in the bliss of his torturous denial that she paid it no mind, regretting now that she could not beg for her release. She began to attempt to speak, hoping that he might understand her muffled words and stop his teasing, when a light was cast upon them. Instinctively, she turned her head just as Hyde did, finding a side door to the Red Rat open, and there the Spider stood, a few of her worried fellow whores peeking out from behind him.

"Mr. Hyde?"

_"What?" _he growled, having already turned to face the wall again, and forced Lucy to do the same.

"Are you damagin' one of my girls?"

"Oh, no. She's mine. And she's enjoying herself _immensely," _Hyde said, taking his hand from her mouth, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Aren't you, Lucy?"

"Yes, sir," she said, breathless.

"Shall we show them, my dear?"

She hadn't even comprehended his meaning before she was taken again, and this time, he did not hold back. Her gasps and desperate cries filled the alleyway as he thrust deep, finding the sweet spot, and pounded into it again and again and again, relentlessly pushing her toward bliss. It was too much, too much, and she screamed in ecstasy, climaxing at last.

He joined her only a moment later, his triumphant roar in perfect sync with her own cry; she was still sounding her pleasure when his had faded, low moans rumbling in her ear. Whimpering and pleading in the tone she knew he liked to hear, she convulsed in his arms, her sex quivering around him as he kept thrusting until she had stilled, panting and exhausted.

A numbness overcame her, sleep advancing, and had his arms not been around her, she would have fallen. She closed her eyes, fresh tears joining those cold and drying upon her cheeks. At least his promise had been true; he had kept her warm. For one precious moment, all was quiet.

Spider's sinister chuckle broke the silence.

"Have fun, Luce."

She heard the door close, and a blush swept over her features. Of all the indecent and sordid acts she had committed, never had she been so thoroughly humiliated. Blinded in the darkness, she looked up at him, feeling his gaze upon her, and his hand touched her face, fingers wiping away the tears they found there.

"Now," he said, an eerie calmness about his voice. "It's time to go upstairs."

A sense of dread came over her. He had gotten what he had come for; what other reason did he need to see her? She knew the answer, of course: her earlier rebellion would not be overlooked. Nothing ever was.

She winced as he withdrew from her, and she quietly cleared away the remainder of her tears, listening to him button his trousers. His hand descended upon her shoulder, and she turned, her eyes adjusted to the night now just enough to see him extend a hand toward her.

Fighting back her fear, she took it, and followed him home.


	4. Chapter 4

The card was chafed at the edges, ink faded from the frequent grasp of Lucy's fingers; it hardly mattered, for she had memorized the embossed letters by heart. She held it against her chest now, thinking of the man she needed to see again, more than anything in the world. The first man to show her simple compassion, to look her in the eyes and see a person, not a thing to be used. The only man who'd never treated her like a whore.

_He will forgive me. _

All she'd done, who she'd been – he alone would forgive. He had to. Her mind was made up. She would see Henry Jekyll again, no matter the cost.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Gentleman here, Lucy," came the voice of Ben, one of the newly-arrived bar boys. "Says he's a friend of yours."

Lucy beamed. How could fate have brought him here? It was an answered prayer, one repeated with every waking thought, every breath, every silent cry for help. Her imagination ran away with her; she even dared fancy that he had come to save her. Why else would he be here?

She was suddenly aware of her scant clothing – only a corset, chemise, and knickers – but there was nothing to be done unless she were to delay, and that would be terribly rude. She was almost at the door before she remembered the card. What to do with it? It would be embarrassing for him to find her fawning over it. She fumbled with the paper, hurriedly shoving it into her corset, making sure no trace was visible. The door creaked open. A shadowy silhouette loomed in the doorway; in the dark, she could make out only his broadest features, but nonetheless smiled in recognition. It could only be-

The man stepped into the faint candlelight, and Lucy stumbled back. It wasn't Henry at all; it was Mr. Hyde.

"For a moment I thought it was someone else," she said with a light tone, hoping to distract him from her obvious revulsion, but no matter how hard she tried, her disappointment could not be mistaken.

She cautiously, but quickly, retreated farther into the room, standing by the foot of the bed. Just the thought of him could rend the flesh from her heart; the sight of him right now would tear it from her chest.

"For a moment, it almost was."

There was a trace of a smile in his voice. What had he done? Had some other man attempted to inquire after her within his hearing, and-

"I have some rather sad news, Lucy," he said, his deep voice sending shivers through her. He'd done something terrible, she was sure of it – or worse, he had something terrible yet planned, perhaps for her. Her shoulders tensed as he approached, bracing for his touch. The subtle heat of his body warmed her skin as he stood behind her. His hot breath caressed her ear.

"I have to go away for a little while."

Lucy allowed herself the smallest exhale of relief. It wasn't about her. At least she had that reassurance, perilous though it was.

"A… friend and I have a little dispute to settle."

She didn't want to picture it. Whoever it was, she pitied the poor soul. She knew too well the consequences of his anger; if she were careless, she would know them again.

"You're glad to see me go."

"No, sir," she whispered, instantly seeking to appease him, but it was useless. His warm lips brushed her right earlobe; her fear only heightened the pleasant shock, waves of heat pulsating through her with just the faintest contact.

"I can tell when you're lying, Lucy," his voice rumbled, drowning out every other thought. It was a warning, but not yet a threat, and for that she was grateful.

She stayed perfectly still as he swept her hair aside, exposing her shoulder. He kissed the soft flesh, dragging his lips from the top of her arm to the hollow of her throat in a sweet rush of sensation. Lucy's knees weakened, and she was glad for the arm that wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. She gave into his seduction, wary though she was. A soft touch now meant nothing; he could still be cross with her. His wrath was just as often delayed as it was swift. If she could repair whatever damage she may have done, she had to try. As his lips began to part, she spoke, for if she did not do so now, she may not have the chance again.

"When do you come back?"

It was meant to sound as though she looked forward to his return; too late, she realized it could be taken as wondering how long of a reprieve she'd have. A firm stroke of his forefinger turned her head toward him. Try though she might, she couldn't meet his gaze, only able to glance at his dark eyes before turning her own downcast.

"It shouldn't take long. I will know where you are every moment while I'm gone," he said. His fingers encircled her neck, with just enough pressure that his threat was unmistakable. "And God help you, if you're not waiting for me when I return."

A whimper escaped her lips, unable to even form whatever phrases she could come up with to placate him. None were forthcoming – her mind was blank, overtaken by a blind panic that rendered her scarcely able to breathe, let alone think. The violent gesture was thankfully brief. She went numb as he released her throat, his touch once more… gentle was not the word, for it would never be that. Even his caresses had a quality of violence about them, baiting a trap for her senses with sweet pleasures that made her tingle as only he could, but they were ready in an instant to ensnare her in a painful grip from which she could never escape. She had tried. It was a mistake she would never make again.

Lucy shivered as his middle finger touched the sensitive spot just behind her ear, trailing his fingertip along the nape of her neck and down her back to the edge of her corset. Her eyes widened in fear.

_The card._

It was still tucked between the stiff material and the linen underneath, atop her breast. It would only be a matter of time before he discovered it. He had forbidden her from seeing anyone else; for him to find another man's mark so close to her heart…

She closed her eyes to conceal the burning tears, determined to make sure he'd find nothing amiss until she found a way to rid herself of the evidence. If he suspected anything, it was over. There was no plea that could save her once she'd earned his fury. She knew that the second he looked at her in anger, she would tell him everything.

His mouth seized her neck without warning, his hot tongue running hard across her skin. Lucy gasped at the sudden onslaught, completely unprepared, her hand finding his at her waist. He teased her mercilessly, flicking in small circles that suggested other, sweeter pleasures; an intense longing pulled at her core as he began to thrust the moistened flesh against the most sensitive areas, a blissful reminder of all the joys his lovemaking had brought her, and would again before long.

She leaned back as he paused for breath, tilting her head to give him better access, but he didn't continue. Instead, two of his fingertips began to slowly trace the curve of her corset. Her nipples had already hardened at his touch; they ached now as he dipped into her cleavage, only the immovable binding between them and the caress she yearned for. He lingered there, almost prying at the restrictive material, so close to exposing the one secret she held so dear. Had she hidden it well enough? Could he see the edge of the card somehow? Had something she'd done made him guess at what she'd been trying to conceal? She stiffened in fear.

With one swift movement, his arm pulled her into a headlock, wrapped tightly enough that he could break her neck with a sharp twist of his bicep. She cried out in fright, the sound strangled by his grip, and her heart raced. Her hands flew to his arm, desperately stroking the fur of his coat.

"Please," she managed to whisper, struggling for enough breath to speak. The only response was a tightening of his grasp. His knee dug into her back, forcing her legs to give out; if she didn't relax, she would suffocate herself. Every instinct told her to fight back, to run, but it would be a death sentence. He didn't move, merely holding her there in painful suspense. After a brief moment of panic, her mind finally cleared enough to think. She knew what he wanted.

She let her arms drop and leaned against him as best as she could, no matter the discomfort, going limp. Her sudden fright had made her seem unyielding; that was what had set him off. It was the thing he seemed to hate most, and even the slightest hesitation on her part could be met with unwarranted cruelty. He had done this to prove a point: she was helpless.

Closing her eyes, she waited, her face a mask of resignation. Slowly, he withdrew his knee and allowed her to stand again, releasing her from his grip, but kept his arm across her chest. She coughed, heaving as she regained her breath. A brush of fingers against her cheek almost made her flinch; she quickly leaned into the caress, taking it as a sign that she'd been forgiven.

He pulled away then, leaving her where she was. Lucy glanced behind her as he shed his coat and draped it over a chair by the wall, his back turned. The light rustle of fabric told her that he was unbuttoning his shirt; he would be a few moments at least. This was her chance.

She hesitated, not trusting her unsteady legs to hold her even if she dared to move, but there was little choice. If she could get to the window, she could slip the card behind the curtain and return in time to spare herself from his wrath. She took a timid step in the direction of the pale moonlight, but before she could even think about freeing the card from its place, Hyde grabbed her by the wrist.

He yanked her to him, her back thrown hard into his bare chest. The violence of it filled her with horror; she prayed that his anger wouldn't incite a beating. An arm wrapped around her waist, not an embrace, but a crushing restraint. He wrenched her wrist beside her head, his grip bruising. She forced herself to relax despite these minor injuries, lest her resistance bring a far worse pain. Resting her head against his shoulder in surrender, she turned to look at him with pleading eyes.

His cold glare was merciless at first, gleaming with threats of a vicious beating; it softened ever so slightly as she began to tear up, placing a gentle hand over his own. He shook the wrist in his grasp, shocking her into unfolding her curled fingers, and loosened his hold. With a lustful glance, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her palm. She shuddered as his tongue stroked the most prominent line etched into her skin, dragging slowly up to the tip of her centremost finger.

When he looked at her again, it was with a demanding passion that made her heart race even faster than it had in fear. He let go of her wrist, taking hold of her waist with both hands; she trembled as they slid down her stomach at a tantalizing pace, edging closer to the source of a longing that became more desperate with every passing second. His eyes never left hers, daring her to protest or plead, but she remained quiet save for the quickening of her breath, knowing that nothing she could say would sway him.

Just as his fingers reached the bottom of her corset, they diverged, firmly gripping the inside of her thighs. She held her breath as he leaned down and sharply tilted his hips into the curve below her buttocks, thrusting his arousal against her. A surprised moan passed her lips at the sudden heat; she arched her back, her eyes closing to savour the feeling. She hoped he'd continue, but he made only the subtlest of movements, and she burned with the anticipation.

His left hand pulled at the ties which closed the gap separating her white linen drawers, loosening them until he could easily slip underneath. She fought the urge to arch into his palm as his fingers touched the dark curls between her legs, and began to trace the delicate folds gently closed over the throbbing nub. She couldn't hold back an unwitting sigh of yearning, thoroughly intoxicated by his teasing movements. A fingertip pushed down on the spot, pressing and releasing in quick succession, creating an ache so fierce that it was painful. Her eyes opened to find him staring intently at her face, judging her reaction; he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. Gazing back with a new boldness, she wordlessly begged him to end this beautiful agony.

If he took notice of her silent plea, it went unheeded. His fingers only grazed her warm skin, teasing her until her eyes glistened with tears, every shuddering breath full of desire. At last, one fingertip slipped into her wetness and found the most sensitive bit of flesh. He flicked over it, making her gasp in sweet pleasure, then held her in suspense again for what seemed like hours. Just when she least expected it, he dove into the throbbing folds and attacked the quivering nub with rapid strokes, throwing her into a fit of ecstasy. At her first cry of joy, his lips captured her throat, hot kisses running along the side of her neck as his tongue fervently imitated his movements below.

The straining bulge thrust hard against her backside, only thin layers of clothing separating them from sweet fulfilment; a fiery ache overwhelmed her with need for him. Lucy clutched his free hand, her mouth hanging open in awe as she cried out in bliss, the pressure building and building-

"Do you want me to take you right now, Lucy?"

His voice was low and husky with passion, his lust matching her own. Whatever sense she had left, she called upon it now. It was the perfect solution – he needn't bother to remove her corset. Her secret would be safe.

"Yes, sir!" she cried.

She turned her head away from him as it neared, arching desperately. Her cries went silent, caught in her throat as he brought her to the cusp of satisfaction. Just as she was about to release the final shriek of pleasure, he stopped. His hands took hold of the inside of her elbows with a harsh grip; he hooked one arm around both of hers, pulling them behind her back. A hand tangled in her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers, and gave a slight tug. She winced, her face contorting in panic as her mind raced. What had she done?

Dark laughter echoed softly in her ear.

"No."

He held her there a second longer before releasing her, lifting her hair and draping it over her left shoulder. There was a slight pull of material at her back. He was starting to unlace her corset.

Lucy bent her head as she began to sob. She struggled to stop herself from shaking, not even daring to wipe the tears away. He couldn't see her face, but he would feel that she was crying, though he would mistake the reason. He would find out the truth soon enough.

His fingers deftly worked at the bindings, each swift movement a countdown to her ruin. Should she try to explain herself now, before he made the discovery himself? He would still be angry, perhaps even furious, but there was a slim chance that her honesty would spare her undue pain.

"Sir, I-,"

A sharp yank of her hair silenced her. Perhaps he thought she was about to make some complaint. Pleasantries had no place in their strange relationship; their cries of passion were often the only words that passed between them. Save for his threats and grand promises, he hardly spoke to her at all. She preferred it that way, for she feared his baiting questions. His words, like his touch, were a ruse – and a wrong answer would cost her dearly.

The loosened corset settled on her hips. Lucy swiftly brought her hands to her chest to undo the front clasps herself. He grabbed her left hand as she pulled the card from her breast with her right, folding it into her fist to keep it out of his view. She yelped in pain as he twisted her wrist, almost breaking it, and spun her toward him. She caught herself with an arm around his back; she let go of the card now that it was out of his sight, but she didn't have time to see it flutter to the floor.

He seized her throat in a suffocating grip, cutting off her breath completely. Her hands sprang to his wrist out of instinct, but she didn't pull – to do so would seal her fate. She tried to speak, to scream, to make any sound at all that would serve as a plea for mercy, but there was nothing she could do. Dizziness began to set in, but still his grip remained steadfast. Why didn't he release her? He wouldn't kill her over so small a transgression, would he? As black dots danced at the edge of her vision, she realized that he may have no intention of letting her go. Through her tears, she looked up into his eyes; Death stared back.

Her fingers pried uselessly at his hand, mouthing all the words she couldn't say as darkness closed in. She thought of the beautiful card that lay on the floor, of the man she would've given anything to see one last time. She longed to tell him of how often she recalled their meeting – how it had given her the strength to endure these cruelties and survive another night, given her the hope that she could one day escape from this hell. Just for him to smile at her once more would be enough. But she would never get the chance to say goodbye.

_We all have to make choices, don't we?_

She chose to live. With a strength she didn't know she had, Lucy lashed out at him, pulling at his arm. He laughed at her, batting one of her hands away, but the other succeeded at landing a blow against his chest. The humour disappeared, and he yanked her closer. His grip loosened just as she shoved him as hard as she could; she stumbled back, nearly thrown into the wall. Leaning against it, she gasped, the sweet inhalation making her cough – but as she looked to him, her breath froze.

He was eerily still, his head bowed, long black hair casting shadows over his face. His gaze lifted to meet hers, and what she saw there chilled her to the bone. Promises of unspeakable agonies screamed from his cold eyes. If he hadn't meant to kill her before, he certainly did now.

He took one step toward her.

Two.

Three.

The terror took hold like an iron vice. She could not move; even her knees daren't tremble, though she commanded them to fold and allow her to fall before him. Maybe then she'd be given a chance. Even that was denied to her.

Her eyes snapped shut, tears falling down her cheeks as she braced herself for whatever pain awaited her. The heat of his body as he neared her was her undoing; she began to shake, every sense screaming in warning. She prayed that he would speak, delaying long enough that she could manage to beg – or else, that the end would at least be quick.

He pulled her from the wall, wrenching her wrists behind her back, and slammed her back against it. She cried out in terror, finally finding her voice.

"Please- !"

Her cry was silenced by his lips. She whimpered, surprised; immediately, she melted into the kiss, opening to his prying tongue. He stroked her with an erotic urgency, a promise, and she strained against him, eager to quell his anger.

Such an act was still odd to her. A whore's mouth wasn't meant to be kissed; that was too intimate, reserved for those dear and close to one's heart, and she was far from his. If he cared for her at all, why would he treat her the way he did? At times, she wished she didn't desire him at all. It would be easier to hate him. She was not his willing lover, but nor was she merely his whore – she was his prey.

He released her to unclasp the loosened corset, and she lifted her arms in surrender. As the garment fell to the floor, he pinned her wrists over her head with one hand, the other pulling down her chemise to bare her right breast. He traced its curve with his fingertips, drawing ever-smaller circles around her nipple, but didn't touch it. She tilted her head in longing as his gaze returned to her face, her drying tears the only evidence remaining of her fear; it had been replaced by a lust so consuming that even the worst of his cruelties paled in comparison.

He bent and took the aching bud into his mouth, his lips pulling sweetly as he stroked it with his tongue, wringing every last bit of pleasure from it; she moaned loudly, trembling, needing more. A hand reached between her legs, teasing back and forth over the delicate indent. She cried out as his thumb began to pleasure her, streaks of heat intensifying until it seemed he would bring her to a climax, but he slowed, denying her; instead, his teasing touch kept her just on the edge, straining for release. She pressed her lips together, turning her scream of frustration into a desperate whimper. He pulled away from her nipple and rose to his full height, looking down into her eyes. Two fingers curled, slipping into her folds. They pushed against her opening, just short of entering her. She sharply arched her head back, gasping with anticipation. His taunting glare dared her to speak.

"Yes," she said, panting. "Please."

In a maddening, passionate haze of frantic kisses, they hastened to the bed, her chemise and drawers tossed to the floor; his clothing and boots quickly joined them. He pinned her to the mattress as he had against the wall, leaning down for a kiss that made her tremble with its violent need. Releasing her, he spread her legs and kissed a trail down her body, his hot tongue ravishing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs…

His hands took hold of her wrists, restraining her, a reminder of his control as he looked up at her, his eyes teasing. Finally, he bent to taste her, and she struggled not to writhe beneath him. He devoured her nub, his tongue deftly flicking hard against her until he found the spot that made her cry out the loudest; then, he set upon it without mercy, stroking furiously as she spasmed with joy. He stopped just before she could reach satisfaction, gathering her wrists in one hand. Two fingers prodded her opening, slick with her dripping lust, and slowly pushed inside.

She arched gently, guiding his skillful, searching fingertips, and gasped as he brushed the sweet spot. He thrust against it hard, faster and faster, driving her relentlessly toward ecstasy; his lips trapped her throbbing nub, holding it captive for the rapid strokes of his tongue, the twin pleasures so overwhelming that she screamed.

Instantly, he withdrew, lifting her up and pulling her to the foot of the bed, making her bend over. He got behind her, placing her hands on the low railing, and she held on tight. Her body quivered in anticipation as his smooth head entered her.

He thrust his full length into her, hitting the spot his fingers had just pleasured, and a cry of pure bliss erupted from her throat. He withdrew to that point and rubbed slowly against it, keeping her in an exquisite agony. One hand cupped her right breast, his fingers circling sweetly over her nipple; the other pleasured her nub with light, deliberate strokes. His lips teased at her neck.

"You'd best savour this, Lucy. You will be punished severely when we're through," he said, growling low into her ear. "But if you beg sweetly now, I may be lenient…"

Before she could even think to speak, he rammed into her again and again and again, the hot friction eliciting shrieks of pleasure from her mouth. She despised him, even as she begged for more, but it was herself that she hated most of all. Her pleas were not for him, never for him, not for mercy nor sweet release; they were for another man entirely. Sobbing, she called out to the one person who could have saved her. But Dr. Jekyll couldn't help her now.

Hyde pounded into her with wild abandon, his harsh cries of passion bellowing in her ear, and she clenched around him, shuddering. She threw her head back, arching as hard as she could. She caught his gaze just before she closed her eyes, climaxing with rapturous ecstasy, and let out a wordless scream.

_Henry!_


	5. Chapter 5

She loved him.

More than anything else in the world, she loved him. Not the man she was with now, but the man whose name she dared not speak aloud: Henry Jekyll.

He had become more than just a friend, no matter what he had said; in Lucy's mind, he had become a saviour, a symbol of all that she longed for, all that she longed to be. It was not the lifestyle she craved – it was the thought of being with him always, a heart to call home. A place she'd be safe. His image had faded in her mind's eye, blurred whenever she tried to recall it, his back as he turned away from their impulsive embrace the only thing left to her. A kind look and a gentle touch were all that remained of her memory of him; anything more brought on a feeling of unease, forcing the sight of her beloved's face just beyond her reach. Even so, it was him that she loved – and only him.

But he could never know.

Her pleasure only intensified as Hyde roared with his own release, his brutal thrusts sending her into unspeakable bliss. Even as she lost herself in the sweet joy, it frightened her. The pain she'd suffered at his hands enslaved her to his whim, but it was only in the throes of ecstasy that she was truly at his mercy. She was sure that he knew it, too – he derived some twisted satisfaction from it, his deliberate and thorough attentiveness to her needs making his vicious treatment of her afterward all the more cruel.

He was the only man to have satisfied her in this way. She'd learned to deceive men in such matters before, convincing them that their attentions were adequate to please a woman, but never before had her fervor been in earnest. It was different with him; there was no pretense, no need to exaggerate or to play at false modesty. His demand that she express her pleasure without reserve only encouraged what she already felt. She couldn't conceal her lust from him if she tried – nor, much to her misfortune, her regret afterward.

The aftershocks coursed through her sweetly, his movements within her suddenly tender but no less passionate, keeping her writhing in pleasure to the very end. At last, she shuddered helplessly and collapsed against him, exhausted. He held her in their carnal embrace a while longer, stroking her hair as they caught their breath. The gesture was so gentle, she almost dared hope…

"Are you satisfied, Lucy?"

The whisper cut through her reverie, startling her. She'd almost fallen asleep. If only she could – but would she be able to rest easily with him so near? She'd not had occasion to find out; even though her time was now exclusively paid for and reserved by him, he never stayed the night.

"Yes, sir," she said, murmuring in her dream-like haze.

He withdrew from her, and only then did she notice the warmth of her thighs and buttocks, hot from the almost bruising force of his hips slamming against her. She would ache tomorrow, but for now, she didn't mind; though he may have been rough, it was nothing compared to the pain he could have caused her had he not so carefully prepared her. Had he chosen to do so, he could have torn her apart. Someday, she feared he just might.

"Good," he said, his tone soothing as his hands grasped her shoulders. "It's time for your punishment."

She panicked as he flipped her onto her back, catching herself on the bed railing. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Please don't! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…," she started, and halted, her breath stolen by violent sobs. "I thought you were going to kill me, sir!"

He leaned in close, a taunting sneer turning serious as his hand wrapped around her throat; fear quieted her weeping. His lips nearly touched hers as he spoke.

"Don't you trust me?"

The words were a trap. To lie would be an unforgivable sin – but to tell the truth would be an insult. No matter what she said, he would find in it a fault and a reason to worsen her pain. Her silence was answer enough, but she daren't leave it at that; to refuse him a reply would anger him most of all. Desperate, she tilted her head slightly, and when his grip didn't tighten, pressed her lips to his.

It was a terrible risk. He rarely even let her touch him without his explicit direction, and attempts to do so, unwitting or otherwise, had resulted in anything from a harsh reprimand to a nearly-broken wrist. She longed to caress him, to hold him, to thread her fingers through his hair – to succeed in pleading for gentleness with her touch as her words had failed to do. If only he would give her the chance.

The violent reaction she had dreaded never happened. Instead, his lips moved against hers, so warm and soft that she almost forgot about everything else. But the relief she'd hoped for soon turned to worry. If she were too timid, he could grow impatient; too forceful, and he might think her overly familiar. How far could she go without overstepping herself?

She carefully brushed her tongue against his lips, and they parted in invitation, giving her permission to lead. All hesitation gone, Lucy kissed him with as much enthusiasm as she dared; her fervour was met with a passion that overwhelmed her senses, drawing her in until she was blissfully lost. His hand moved from her neck to her cheek, his caresses delicate, and an arm wrapped around her back to hold her close. She let go of the railing, embracing him as she had never done before, weak with relief when he only held her tighter. For the first time, she felt safe.

They didn't stop until they were out of breath, both pulling away in tandem. His finger traced the outline of her face, tipping up her chin, and she chanced a weak smile, receiving a warm grin in return. Her heart leapt at the rare show of affection – but just as quickly, she was plagued by an unsettling feeling. She'd seen that smile before. But not from him.

"Was that an answer, or an apology?" he asked.

She tried not make her sudden wariness plain, forcing herself not to look away despite the turmoil inside her heart.

"Both, sir," she said.

His gaze moved to her lips, his own so close that she could feel their warmth.

"Then you should do it twice."

She kissed him again at once, determined not to let the odd sensation in her chest impact this brief moment of joy, the closest thing to happiness she'd known since… since…

The images came unbidden into her mind: the memory of a richly decorated study, a clock chiming on the fireplace, a smooth, warm hand on her shoulder-

Maybe she hesitated; she wasn't sure. But the moment her thoughts shattered, his kiss turned violent once more, familiar in its wild, consuming ferocity. She tried to relax, though her pulse thundered in her ears as it always did with him, and surrendered to the maddening ache that sent shivers of fire racing through her. It thrilled her, scared her, made her want to cry, but at least this was known to her. Part of her longed for the kiss of moments ago, but suddenly, it was his gentleness that frightened her most of all.

He pulled away, leaving her breathless. She lay vulnerable in his arms, panting, and looked to him. Lust had returned to those dark eyes – and so had their mystery. He swept her up and set her back upon the mattress, straddling her; his hands slid up her stomach and over her breasts, his fingertips teasing her nipples. She moaned, weak at the thought of him taking her again, and closed her eyes.

"Apology not accepted."

The open-handed slap descended before she could even comprehend what he'd said. The sharp blow stung, hard enough to make her dizzy, but it wasn't likely to bruise. If she didn't act quickly, she was certain she'd have far worse. She opened her eyes to find his hand reared back, ready to strike again.

"Please, sir! I begged you! You said-!"

His other hand grabbed her throat, holding her in place as he slapped her again, harder this time.

"I said I may be lenient. Be thankful I hold your pleasure so dear, or I'd have made you scream in agony instead."

She flinched as he leaned down, but he didn't look at her. His lips pressed against her ear.

"If you _ever _raise your hand to me again, I will kill you," he said, a deathly growl so low that it seemed inhuman. "There will be no warning, no time to beg, and no mercy. Do you understand, Lucy?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, struggling to breathe past the choking sobs.

He left her there, shaking uncontrollably, as he dressed. When he'd finished, he returned to stand beside the bed; she couldn't bear to look at him, but neither could she move, lying petrified on top of the blankets. She dug her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from recoiling as his hand touched her cheek. He wiped away the tears trailing into her hair, but the soft touch only encouraged her weeping.

She went limp as he lifted her onto her knees, her only resistance a wondering glance before looking away; he climbed onto the mattress, facing her, and pulled her into his arms. His warm embrace was a surprise, but not a relief. Numbness dragged at her limbs, a cautious folding of her arms about his back the most she could manage, and she laid her head upon his shoulder, crying freely. She had nothing left.

Why? Why did he bother to comfort her? If that had been his intent, it had failed; rather than put her at ease, it made her want to crawl away. She wished he would just go, leaving her to cry and mend her fractured heart in the safety of her own mind, instead of guarding every look and every touch in fear of his anger. Why couldn't he just use her and be on his way like all the others? Whatever his twisted feelings for her, she'd rather be without them. It was better to be bruised than broken.

They remained there until her weeping had stopped and her tremors stilled, drained of all feeling but the emptiness in her chest. He pulled back, his hand cupping the right side of her face, and swept away what remained of her tears. She averted her eyes, afraid of what she might find in his – or worse, what her own might reveal to him.

"Look at me."

Her gaze lifted, heart racing as she stared into the cold, dark depths.

"I will return as soon as I can, and then I will make the arrangements for-,"

He stopped, looking past her, and sprang from the bed. She turned just in time to see him stand over a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. Her eyes went wide with fear, and he caught her guilty glance, his expression turning dangerous. He'd found the card.

"Is this what you were hiding from me?" he said, his tone making it clear that it was not a question, and snatched it up.

She saw his jaw tighten and his muscles tense as he read the weathered bit of paper. Locks of black hair fell over his eyes, keeping them from her view, but she could guess at the rage they must hold. Panic overtook her, leaving her speechless as she tried to think of some excuse.

"I tried to tell you, sir!" she said at last. "Truly, I did-!"

A harsh laugh interrupted her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to the railing, an iron grip crushing her wrist.

"What is this man to you?"

"Just a friend, sir," she answered, too quickly, though it wasn't a lie. In her heart, she knew that that was all she was to him; perhaps even that was too far. Memories of their kiss surfaced, his gentle lips so sweet upon hers – and then, so cruelly denied her.

"And this "friend"… do you have feelings for him?" he asked. For the first time, she thought she heard a trace of uncertainty; his voice had shaken for just a moment, an edge of distress mixed with anger. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was. Jealousy.

"I hardly know him, sir."

A hand rose as if to slap her, and she cowered, bowing her head. He forced her chin up, his fingers pinching hard enough that she dare not look away.

"Answer the question."

She sobbed, hoping her obvious panic would delay him. What would he do if she told him the truth? It wasn't just her life at stake anymore; if he took that card with him…

"Yes," she said quietly, sniffing. "But I won't visit him again, I swear-,"

"You visited him? When?"

"The day after you bit me, sir," she said, and realized that "visit" may have sounded intimate, quickly correcting herself. "He cleaned the wound, sir, that's all."

"Is it?"

She couldn't lie; he would pry the truth from her with a slap before she could finish speaking.

"I… I kissed him, sir. To thank him."

"And did he kiss you back?" he asked. It sounded as though he were mocking her. Rather than become angry, he almost seemed amused.

"Not really, sir," she said. "He left."

Tears masked her deceit, if it could even be called that. He had kissed her back, if only for a moment, and it was something she would cherish for the rest of her life. But in the end, what she had said was the truth. As he had walked away, so had her heart.

She flinched as he released her, expecting a blow, but none came. He went to her vanity, where a lone candle lit the room. He stuck the card into the flame.

_"No!"_

She covered her mouth, instantly regretting the panicked cry. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her from the bed, holding her face before the fire as she watched her only hope burn. Weeping in silence, she tried to be thankful. Without the card, at least he wouldn't be able to find Henry.

When it had turned to ash, he spun her around and bent her over the side of the bed, shoving her face-down into the mattress. She managed to turn her head, gasping as terror screamed through her veins.

"Please don't hurt me! I'll never see him again, I promise! Please!"

There was no reply. His hands gripped her shoulders, and she braced herself for pain. Instead, they kneaded her tense muscles, his thumbs massaging the nape of her neck until she let her head hang loose. Praying that this was not a ruse to lower her defences before a beating, she closed her eyes.

His hands moved slowly up and down her back, and she allowed herself to relax completely, giving into the tingling warmth of his caresses. They embraced her, sliding over her stomach and up to her breasts, fingertips teasing at her nipples until she was thoroughly intoxicated, longing for him once more. Her breath caught as he moved downward, one hand edging closer and closer to that pulsating spot; his fingers spread on either side, running along her folds. He trailed back and forth, closing in on the throbbing flesh, but did not touch her. His fingertips rubbed gently all around it, small circular movements that made her ache desperately for his sweet caress. She whimpered quietly, arching her back.

Soft moans escaped with every breath as his other hand stroked the back of her thighs, all the more sensitive for the lingering tenderness of their earlier joining. He skimmed her folds, teasing her; she felt a warm flow of new lust between her legs, adding to the already hot, dripping wetness. She went weak as two fingertips touched her opening, pushing gently. Gasping, she turned her head to look back at him, a pleading look in her eyes.

What was he doing? Was this a punishment, arousing her until it became torture, only to leave her unfulfilled as a lesson? Or was he preparing to take her again, her infidelity forgiven for the moment? She couldn't ask, certain that he wouldn't answer – he never did. Whatever it was, she far preferred it to the alternative.

A lustful glare looked down upon her; he gave her a small knowing smile, pressing a little harder, and she moaned in longing. His eyes locked with hers as he slowly knelt and licked his lips, spreading her thighs further apart. The soft flesh quivered at the stroke of his tongue. Heat consumed her, setting her sex on fire as it traced her opening, and his fingers began their skillful manipulation of that most sensitive spot. She cried out in pleasure, still amazed by it after all this time. Since the first night they'd met, the excitement hadn't lost its wonder; each exploration was different than the last, but always, her senses were stunned by the joys that he alone had given her. She clutched the bed sheets, arching and whimpering encouragements as he rubbed her exactly where she needed it, bringing her closer and closer until the blissful end was in reach.

Suddenly, his movements ceased, and he stood. Any worry she may have had was laid to rest as his hand replaced the sweet caresses of his mouth. His long, smooth fingers eased inside of her, seeking the aching core they knew so well. She threw her head back as he found the very source of her lust, every muscle in her body pulling toward that one point, instantly sending her into rippling spasms of pleasure.

He played her body like a finely-tuned instrument, low moans turning into soaring screams at his command. Every time it seemed he would finish it, he paused, the fingers inside of her still as his other hand stroked her nub just slowly enough to stop her from going over the edge. She pleaded until her words faded into desperate cries, calling out to him to save her from this sweet agony, but he didn't respond, denying her time and time again. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes; even she was not quite sure why. She quieted herself, lips pressed together to stifle her screams as he made her writhe on the brink of ecstasy. Only then did he speak.

"Do you love me, Lucy?"

A shudder ran through her, fear chilling the fire of his touch. His tone was direct and without the subtle humour his taunts always carried. The question wasn't just a trick; it was a death threat. If she said "no," she was certain he would dispose of her. If she said "yes," she would be beaten for lying, and then most likely killed anyway. This torturous seduction had all been for this moment, the end predetermined regardless of her answer. She wept, refusing to concede. The second she did, it would be over.

Her punishment was a renewed assault on her senses, the rapid, hard thrusts of his fingers prying helpless screams from her throat until she felt the pleasure itself would kill her. He moved beside her, leaning down to growl into her ear.

"Say it, and I'll give it to you."

Whether it was release or death he truly meant, she could not know. She tore at the bed sheets to stop herself from shaking her head, clenching around him as hard as she could. He forced her just over the edge and stopped, leaving her suspended in bliss.

_"Say it!"_

It wasn't just a demand – it was as though he _needed _to hear it. Did he want her to hate him? Or was it truly her love that he sought? At least if he would hit her for lying, it would give her more time.

"Yes!"

His fingers circled, movements teasing, but his voice did not.

"Yes _what_?"

She bowed her head and prayed her next words would not be her last.

"I love you!"

He withdrew, one hand yanking her head back by her hair. The other wrapped around her throat. She closed her eyes, expecting this to be the end, but it never came. He waited until she looked at him to speak.

"And now we've both been proven liars."

She couldn't bear to look at him as he walked away, leaving her aching there, and she climbed onto the bed. On her knees, she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. The soft rustle of his coat let her know that his departure was imminent. Her betrayal would stay with him wherever he went, and when she saw him next, she knew she would pay for it. A desperate plot formed in her mind, mad even to be considered, but it could be worth the risk. The card was gone, all her hopes up in flame along with it. She'd nothing left to lose.

"I could try, sir."

It was no more than a whisper, but it stopped him midstride. Slowly, he turned, and she gazed at him with the most innocent look she could come up with. Though fear prickled the back of her neck, it had ceased to paralyze her. Love had made her brave, and foolish.

She didn't falter as he stalked toward her, his hungry look stealing her breath. She unfolded her legs and lay back, resting on her elbows as he set his hands on either side of her, leaning down. His tongue devoured her again, quick, hot strokes readying her for bliss within seconds. The agonizing suspense came flooding back as she heard him unbutton his trousers. At the first sign of her shuddering climax, he stopped, kissing a trail up her body until he faced her. He was throbbing and rigid again; she arched toward him, her breath heaving. A kiss silenced her moan as he filled her once more, holding her close.

This time, there was no teasing or gentleness, only passion. She embraced him as she had never dared to before this night, her arms wrapping tightly about him as she held steady for his rough, wild thrusts. Her cries broke free as he released her lips to kiss her neck, ramming his full length into her without mercy. His voice, harsh with lust, rumbled an assurance into her ear, and she clenched around him, surrendering herself to the pleasure completely. At last, she screamed in joy, wave after wave of hot bliss drowning her until she could scarcely breathe. She felt his body shudder with hers, an exultant shout of satisfaction cutting through the darkness that consumed her.

Sweet, breathless kisses claimed her lips as she fell back, utterly spent. She floated slowly back down to earth, her aching heart wrenching her into reality; though she returned every kiss in kind, she would never forget the hate they concealed.

He lingered a few moments longer, a hand stroking her hair as he looked at her, and she did her best to seem meek and helpless, not a trace of her true feelings remaining. Without another word, he departed. She pulled the pillow to her and curled up, crying herself to sleep where she laid, the bed still warm from the heat he had given her.

Her heart, he had left cold.


	6. Chapter 3 Pt 2

NOTE: This is a continuation of Chapter 3. Rather than reupload all chapters to put them in order, I'm just calling this 3.5.

She hadn't been forgiven. As Lucy followed her merciless benefactor up the stairs of the whorehouse, her wrist in his cruel grasp, of that much she was certain. She kept up her pace, fearing the consequences should she fall behind, and thought with longing of those blissful moments in the alley below – for now, all that remained was the pain of his wrath.

When he closed the door behind them, Lucy moved to drop to her knees, but he placed his hands upon her shoulders, pulling off the men's wool coat she had worn as scant defense against the chilly October night. Reluctant though she was to part with it, she dared not make a complaint; better the ache of icy air than the heat of angry blows.

She stood trembling before him, as much in fear as with cold, and gasped at the brush of warm lips against her neck from behind. His arm wrapped about her waist, its heat irresistible as she relaxed in spite of herself, melting against him.

"Now, what shall I do with you?"

His hot arousal pressed into her back, and Lucy moaned. Was she meant to answer him? That he was ready for her again gave her some hope – he might be persuaded into bed before he could linger on thoughts of her punishment. Once he was satisfied, there was a chance she could gently pry an assurance of safety from him. It was worth trying.

"Please, sir," she whispered. "Keep me warm."

His other arm folded beneath her breasts, his fingers curving up to pinch one hardened nipple through her chemise, and she surrendered entirely to the pleasurable heat with a whimper, her knees weakening. Her head arched back, resting on his shoulder as she sought his gaze, and when he met her eyes, it was with a lust that wracked her body with desire, breathless and desperate for his touch.

"Oh, I will, my sweet Lucy…" he said, rubbing the taut bud between his fingertips as his other hand slid down her stomach and slipped beneath her undergarment, his skillful fingers finding her aching nub at once.

"Yes, sir. Please." She fought to keep from arching against his hand, carefully clutching the fur sleeves of his coat as he stroked her into bliss, circling hard and fast until her thighs shook and helpless cries poured forth from her lips. "Please don't stop, sir. Please don't stop!"

Yet, she knew he would; he always did, just before the moment of climax, a cruel denial to leave her shaking and overwhelmed with need for him as they made their way to bed. But instead, his fingers sped up, rubbing furiously just where she needed it, and she tossed her head back, her mouth gaping open in disbelief as her orgasm hit.

"Sir!" she screamed in joy, arching as hard as his embrace would allow. Her sex shuddered helplessly, aching for him to fill her, the bliss of his fingers only leaving her wanting more, and she ground back against his cock as the haze of pleasure began to clear.

He gripped her waist and bent, thrusting himself against her buttocks, and her body convulsed with need. She fell forward, caught by his arm around her breasts, yanking her back up against him. His dark laughter sounded in her ear, mocking, and he kissed her neck, his tongue lavishing her with hot, erotic strokes. She gave in to his torment, panting with lust, until at last he pushed her away.

"Clear the bed and lie down."

The order was harsh, as if he hadn't been at all affected by her wanton writhing, and it sent a chill through her cold enough to make the room seem stifling by comparison. Still, it was an invitation to bed, and bed meant safety, at least for a while. She hastened to obey, shoving the pile of clothes onto the floor and climbing atop the blankets.

Meanwhile, he had removed his coat, but instead of placing it over the chair by the door as was his custom, he brought it with him as he joined her, setting it by the lower railing. Pulling her up, he yanked the chemise over her head, then slid her undergarment down her legs, slowly, and she shivered in the cold, yearning for his warm touch.

She needn't wait long. He grasped her thighs, his hands hot against her skin as he caressed up to her breasts and back down to her dripping entrance, touching everywhere but the places that most ached for him. All else was colder for the heat of his teasing fingers, and her panting breaths clouded the air between them.

At last, he relented, rolling a nipple between his fingertips as he rubbed the aching peak of her sex. Each stroke was like fire, blazing a scorching path that always met its end deep in her core, and she begged, crossing her wrists above her head in an invitation to pin her down and take her.

In answer, he ceased his torturous caresses, her exposed body shuddering with the cold as he unfastened his trousers and pulled the fur coat over himself. He bent her knees up, spreading her wide open as he entered her, slow and hard.

Lucy gasped as his cock filled her, the thick curve of him stroking her deep, arching right into the spot that made her cry with joy. The pressure was too much, the pleasure too overwhelming, and her sex clenched around him in a desperate spasm as he impaled her completely.

She screamed, climaxing with a single thrust, her body writhing helplessly. He held her down as he kept going, driving her mad with slow, deep strokes. This angle was entirely new, pleasurable beyond words, and for the first time, she saw him there above her, looking into her eyes with a dangerous lust. He had fucked her dozens of times, in every way she could imagine, yet they had never been so close.

When he chanced to close his eyes, she glanced between their bodies, watching his cock plunge into her sex. It lasted but a moment, and his eyes were on hers again, an edge of anger to them as he thrust harder, faster, ramming so deep that his loins crashed against her folds. She stared up at him as the pleasure raced like fire through her veins, knowing she mustn't look away, but even his lustful gaze spoke of rage, of violence and pain, and tears fell down her cheeks. Trying to blink them away, she was unprepared for his sudden withdrawal.

In her confusion and fear, she yelped as he flipped her over onto her stomach and straddled her from behind. The tip of his cock pushed against her thigh, but rather than open her wide to receive him, he guided himself to her opening and thrust hard between her closed legs.

Lucy moaned as he entered, his already generous girth made almost unbearably thick by her body's embrace, that throbbing shaft stretching the walls of her sex to their limit. Every slow, deliberate movement was like rapturous fire, branding her with a scorching bliss until at last he rubbed the aching core of her sex. Stunned by the sensation, her breath caught, and as he reached the end of her, she let out a shuddering sob, so full that he was all she could feel.

His weight settled over her, his hand gathering her wrists to pin them over her head as he pulled back and thrust forward again, stroking that glorious spot, and she cried out in joy. The heat of him was overwhelming, her body sweating despite the cold of only moments ago.

Once more was all it took, and she screamed her pleasure into the blanket as her sex convulsed around him, toes curling and fingers clawing at the fabric beneath her to contain the ecstasy of her wild climax. He laughed into her ear and swept her hair aside, his lips dragging against the nape of her neck as he kept thrusting, burying himself deep until she moaned, urged toward another desperate spasm of bliss.

They stayed like that another hour yet, writhing beneath the warm coat, the frigid air filled with their cries of passion and release. It was impossible to know how many times she lost herself in throes of ecstasy, hurtling into the darkness only to be awakened once more by the sweetest of pleasures. All she knew was that she dreaded its end, and when at last he withdrew, leaving her still shuddering with bliss, she wept silently into the pillow.

She listened to his every movement as he left the bed, but the fur coat remained, soft against her back. Curling beneath it, she waited, each footfall warning of his imminent return. The punishment she had begged him to reconsider could not be far behind, and she resigned herself to it, numbness settling in until even the surely sinister stroke of his hand over her hair seemed only a fond caress.

"Sleep well, Lucy."


End file.
